Chrysalis
by viva los angeles
Summary: She was only there because she was misunderstood. Or at least, that's what she thought. Mindycentered. R&R.
1. One

**A/N: TGGBOC is on semi-hiatus until I figure out what I'm going to do with it, because there's another story out there like it, and the author seems to be reading my mind, so I need some original ideas. In the meantime, because I'm such a big Mindy/Allison Scagliotti-Smith fan, here' s a Mindy-centric story. I just found out (or like, remembered) that my friend's parents are named Josh and Mindy. Strange world. Anyhow, because no one ever talks about Mindy's time in the "cuckoo hut" I decided _I _would.**

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_Chrysalis_

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I _don't_ want to be here.

That's all I can think of right now.

We pull up to Saint Dymphna's Mental Health Rehabilitation Center in our nondescript black Suburban and we get out. My mother has one hand on my left arm and my father is holding onto my right shoulder, my huge pink hardside suitcase in his left hand. Sarah's in the car watching Jeremy. I'm glad they're not coming in with us, because right now I have tears streaming down my face. My mom is trying not to cry, and I can tell because of the shuddering in her breath. My dad's grip on my shoulder gets tighter the closer we get to the sliding doors.

Finally one of my feet hits the big gray doormat. I turn around and I can see Sarah's face against the window. She's crying too, and I wave and blow a kiss. She catches it, just like we've done since she was old enough to mimic. For a second, I wonder why I can't just be normal like everyone else I know. My mom gives me a strange look, but then the question in her eyes turns to understanding. But I don't understand at all.

The doors slide open with a _whoosh_ and a blast of air-conditioned wind hits us as we step into the marble-floored lobby. Haphazardly I wipe my eyes with a fist as we walk up to the check-in counter. My toes are curled up in my bunny slippers and I'm wearing a sweatshirt two sizes two big and pajama pants. No need to get dressed up.

"Name?" the roundish blonde nurse asks.

"Melinda Crenshaw," my mother attempts to steady her voice.

"Room 504," the nurse says with a smile and points to the elevators. "Up to the fifth floor and take a left to the end of the hallway."

My parents nod and try to return the smile. I don't even bother, just continue to silently sob. We poke the elevator button to coax the car down the cable, and the doors slide open. Fifth floor button. Doors open. Already I can sense repetition.

The hallway is painted pink with teal carpet, obviously trying to imitate a posh hotel. _What a horrible décor job_, I think bitterly. Finally at the end of the hall, I see a sign with "504" written on it.

"Here we are," my mother nods and chokes back her sob. "Are you ready?"

Pulling the handle, I open the big wooden door and look inside. The entire wall is glass and faces out onto the San Diego skyline, with a balcony so I can enjoy smog at my leisure. A coffee table with a chair sits in front of the window and a TV is up on a swivel-stand in the top corner of the room. A day bed huddles against the off-white wall and a nightstand next to it, the door to the closet behind that. Another door, presumably to the bathroom, hides in the corner, and a papason chair takes up more space.

"It's… nice," my father tries.

Since leaving the house, I've not said a word.

My mom sits down in the papason and my dad, after rolling my suitcase into the corner, sits in the chair next to the coffee table. I remain standing in the middle of the room, silently taking stock of everything. There's a mini-fridge under the nightstand which I didn't notice at first, and I wonder what's in there. On the coffee table is a stack of pamphlets which my mother picks up and leafs through. "Here's a schedule of all the fun activities here," she says and puts a yellow flyer down. A stack of to-reads builds up quickly from there, with my new school schedule and therapy schedule just two of the best-sellers in it.

When she's finished them off, my mother sits back and hands me a tote bag that I didn't notice was on her arm. "Here are some must-haves," my mother explains as I sit down on the bed and peer into the bag, expecting a poisonous snake to strike. I bravely put a hand in and pull out first an _Eighteen_ magazine with a note on it, explaining that I now have a subscription. Similarly I encounter _Teen Persons_ and _Teen Trend_. There are four novels hiding in the bottom of the bag and I pull them out as well, smiling for the first time in the past month. My favorites—mysteries. Along with a box of tampons and some makeup, the rest of the bag's contents are pretty mundane. Lastly, I pull out a pair of beautiful violet-colored beaded earrings. "Those are to wear when you have your dance next month," my mother smiles.

"Thanks," I whisper weakly. "I really appreciate it."

"We'll be back to visit next weekend," my father sighs. "We'll come around every month. Be sure to call us often, Melly. If ever you need anything that you can't get here, call us and we'll have it right over." He hands me my blue teddy bear that he had carried up with us, and I hug the bear to my chest. "We've paid for unlimited minutes per month for phone service, so call whenever you want."

"We love you, and we always will." My mother stands up and nods to my father.

"I know," I sigh, barely audible. "I know."

Both of my parents step forward and we group hug, and my mother picks up her purse and then they're gone down the hall, down the elevator, down the hall, down the highway.

Sitting on my bed, I look around and realize for the first time where I am. I am in a crazy hut hospital for the mentally screwed over. I don't understand how I could possibly deserve this. Looking at my watch, I pick up the schedules. Today is Sunday, so my classes start tomorrow. It's six forty-five, so I can go down for dinner and my first group therapy session. Therapy for what? I shouldn't be here. I'm _not_ crazy. I don't know why everyone's thinking I am.

I sigh and open the door to the bathroom. It's nice enough, with a combination bath/shower, but all I want is the sink. I wash my face quickly and put on enough makeup to look presentable, and then I go back into my new room and pull on some jeans and my black flats. Dinner is in the cafeteria, and my therapy session's in room 208, but I decide to go to the therapy room first to check it out. I'm not hungry.

Grabbing _Teen Persons_ in case boredom attacks, I take the elevator to the second floor and get out. It looks much more hospitaly than my floor. The nurse's stations number two on floor five, but here they number infinity. There are more nurses than I've seen anywhere at one time milling around, talking to each other, and catching quick naps leaning up against doorposts. I realize that I'm probably not the only person here, and that a lot of the people here probably aren't wrongly convicted and probably are crazy. Squeezing my way through the nurses, I find room 208.

Peeking inside, I see a nice-looking woman sitting at a desk typing on a laptop, and she looks up and spies me. "Hi, I bet you're Melinda Crenshaw."

"Mindy," I nod.

"I'm Katie," she smiles, tucking a strand of her cropped brown hair behind her ear. "So you'll be joining us for therapy?"

"Yeah, I'm gonna head to the cafeteria first," I reply.

"Oh, we're ordering pizza tonight. It's the first night for a lot of new people."

I smile slightly. "Cool. Should I just hang here then?"

"Sure," Katie smiles again.

I flip open _Teen Persons_ and am halfway through the letters section when a girl comes into the room. She has blonde super-curly hair in a braid down to her shoulders and walks straight up to Katie, sticking her hand out. "I'm Jessica," she introduces herself. Katie shakes her hand and keeps on smiling. The grinning is definitely getting annoying.

Jessica chats with Katie for a minute and then comes to sit next to me. She sticks her hand out at me and beams. "I'm Jessica."

I ignore her hand and nod politely. "Mindy."

"This is going to be interesting, hmm?" She looks over at my magazine. "Ugh, I can't believe people are wearing this stuff," she scoffs, pointing to an ad with a model wearing purple eyeshadow halfway up her forehead. I merely nod and make an affirmative noise. She seems to get the point and leans back, glancing at the clock.

I look out the window. The sun is setting and the sky is slightly cloudy, wind whipping the trees around. I hope it rains.

A few more kids trickle in and finally it's seven. The pizza arrives and we all dig in. I take a slice of pepperoni and curl up in my chair. No one has talked to me except for Jessica. I suppose I'm being rude. So what?

"Welcome to therapy," Katie says with the omnipresent smile. "Let's go around and introduce ourselves."

The first girl is Jamie, from Dallas. Jessica's next—she's from Albany. I'm quickly surprised by how far away people have come from to come here. There's a somewhat cute guy, Taylor, who's from Silver Springs in Maryland. And then there's me.

"I'm Mindy," I say sans smile, "and I live here, in San Diego."

A few more girls and more guys introduce themselves, and then Katie speaks again.

"So, this is many of you guys' first therapy session for loss of a sibling."

My heart practically stops, and I raise my hand. "Hold on, I must be in the wrong class," I explain. "I haven't lost a sibling."

Katie looks concerned. "Um, your parents signed you up for your therapies when they paid tuition."

"There's been a mistake." I am relentless. "I haven't lost a sibling. I have a ten-year-old sister, Sarah, and a baby brother, Jeremy."

"Um…" Katie looks speechless. "You don't _have _any siblings," she says softly.

"This must be a mistake," I yell. "I have two siblings!"

Katie gets up and comes to my side. "Mindy, your sister and brother died two months ago in a car accident."

"You're a liar!" I scream and slap her across the face. Her entire head turns red, her silver double-piercing standing out from the crimson. "I have two siblings!"

I get up from my chair and run down the hall. My flats are costing me space, and Katie's gaining on me, so I take them off and throw them at her. One of them hits her in the stomach and I almost feel bad, but I don't. My bare feet slap the carpet and I zip into the elevator just as it's closing.


	2. Two

**A/N: Because of the amazing recognition this story's received… or, you know, not, because there isn't any… I'm writin' another chapter. I've been thinking about this story, and I've pretty much outlined the plot in my head, so hopefully this one'll actually get finished.**

**--**

"Mindy!"

I see Katie's alarmed face as I escape between the elevator doors. Punching the button for the fifth floor, I breathe heavily and realize that I'm crying. _Drat_. I hate having mascara running down my cheeks.

As soon as the doors open, I run out and race down the hall to my room. I open the door and slam it behind me, desperately searching for a lock. None. Leaning up against the heavy door, I put all of my weight onto it, and I can hear footsteps on the other side. "Mindy!"

My heart is racing as I calculate my position. Katie's halfway down the hall, and the bathroom door's open. I run in and close the door behind me, leaning up against it. Again, no lock. "Is there no room for privacy?" I gasp for breath.

I hear her open the door. _Damn_. I can see her in my mind—she's looking around, and then she sees the bathroom door. "Mindy," I feel her tugging on the door. "Come out."

Somehow, she gets the door open (it probably doesn't help that I was leaning against the door, but it opens out, not in) and I fall backwards with a small shriek, tumbling onto the ground. Trying to get up, I'm full-out crying and Katie is holding onto my arm. She holds tightly—man, that girl has a grip—and I thrash, trying to escape.

She pushes a button on the wall that I hadn't seen and within ten seconds, "backup" comes from the nurses' station. They each hold onto one of my arms and they stay there.

I'm sobbing my heart out, yelling my lungs out. "I have a sister! I have a brother!" I cry through my tears. All of my energy is put into trying to get away from their grips, their kind smiles. I don't _want_ their help. I'm _not_ crazy.

Within fifteen minutes, I'm a limp mess. My knees collapse and I fall to the ground, shaking. My face is damp and I've got hair in my mouth. I feel like barfing, and I promptly do, politely turning my face away from the nurses before doing so. It's a dry barf; nothing comes out, but my stomach inside-outs. Katie's kneeling beside me, smoothing my hair with her hand and making general shushing noises. Finally I've stopped verbally crying and am just shaking, in dire need of breath. Katie sits down next to me.

"Mindy. Your sister and brother died two months ago."

"You keep saying that," I sob.

"It's true. You were driving and they were in the car with you, and your parents too. A minivan crashed into you and they were both killed instantly, but you and your parents just spent a few days in the hospital."

"You're a liar," I say unconvincingly.

Katie sighs. "I wish I were. That's why you're here."

"Because they're still alive to me…" I trail off. "I _am_ crazy."

"You're not crazy," Katie says. "You're just traumatized."

"Why don't I remember this?" I'm so confused by this point.

"The brain has a tendency to block out unpleasant things. Probably due in part to your intelligence, your brain is extremely strong and has blocked out the entire experience."

"I cloned my dog," I say randomly.

"You have a visitor," Katie interrupts me, and I look up.

Outside the window are two girls from the group and a boy I don't recognize. They see me look at them and Katie, handing me my flats, smiles and disappears out of the room. The nurses too.

"Hey Mindy," Jessica smiles and sits down next to me. "What's doing?"

I sigh. "I'm insane."

"We all are," says the other girl, whose name I remember is Bethany, with a slight chuckle. She's pretty short, I notice, as she sits down next to Jessica.

I look up at the guy. He has a mane of red wavy hair and he sticks out a hand. "I'm Carlisle," he says with a grin. "I live just down the hall."

"I'm insane," I say again, somewhat lamely, as I shake his hand.

Jessica grabs my wrist as she stands and pulls me up with her. "We're going to show you something."

I wonder what as I get to my feet and stick them into the black flats again. Carlisle opens the door and Jessica and I go through first, then Bethany, and then he exits with us. We get in the elevator and Bethany punches the button for floor eleven. I'd forgotten how big this building is.

The elevator stops after about thirty seconds and we get out. This floor looks much more medical than floor five—there are nurses everywhere, the floors are tile, and the rooms are hospitaly, not hotelly like my room. Carlisle stops all three of us and looks at me. "I'm going to warn you—this is pretty intense. If you want to leave, we'll take you back to your room."

Awkward silence.

I nod and follow obediently behind him, Jessica and Bethany behind me. "This is where the permanent patients live," he explains. "They're either here because they have to have constant medical attention, or their families couldn't take care of them."

The first room we pass has a woman sitting in the corner on the floor, and I can hear her through the wall carrying on a conversation with herself. Discussing politics with herself. She twists a lock of her thinning hair around her left forefinger and gestures with her right hand. "Yesterday she was talking about the weather," Bethany remarks.

The second room we pass has a small boy sitting in the corner of the room while a woman sits on the bed in the middle of the room. She is rocking back and forth, crying. "She does that all day, every day," Carlisle says in a dismal tone. "That's her son. She's only thirty years old. Her husband's in the military."

We pass several rooms without occupants or whose occupants are sleeping. I'm acting unaffected but this is tearing me up inside. Finally we stop at the end of the hallway and Bethany knocks lightly on the door. "Enter," a voice comes from inside, and we obey.

A young man about our age is sitting on the edge of his bed, dangling his legs over the side and looking at his feet. When he sees Jessica, he gets up and hugs her, kissing her cheek. "Jessica, my darling!" He sees Carlisle, and does that stupid shake-hug thing that guys do. "How goes it, my man?" And when he sees Bethany, he stops and grins big. "Verona's summer hath not such a flower," he says, wrapping her in a bear hug and kissing her cheek like he did Jessica.

Then he sees me and kneels on one knee, taking my hand and kissing it. "Carlisle, where have you been hiding this beautiful lady? She wears the rose of youth upon her." I blush furiously as he stands and bows with a flourish.

Carlisle steps forward. "This is Mindy," he gestures to me. "Mindy, meet Jackson. Or as we call him, Bard."

"A fan, a very fan of Shakespeare," Bard confirms, and I smile.

"We visit him every couple of days," Jessica adds. "Probably because he makes us feel so good about ourselves." She laughs.

So does Bard. "It's hard not to," he grins.

I notice then that he is thin, but what hits me is that he is completely bald. Tactfully I make a mental note to ask Carlisle about that.

"We'd better get going," Bethany scowls. "Mindy ran us out of our therapy meeting and I'm sure Katie's probably mad." I can see a hint of a smile on her face.

"That we should say good night, till it be morrow," Bard grins and sits back down on his bed. "Mindy, perfectly lovely to meet you."

I smile. "Ditto."

Carlisle opens the door and we leave silently. I open my mouth to ask about him, but Carlisle beats me to it. "Bard is bulimic. He has a terrible habit, also, of pulling out his hair as soon as it grows in. And as you may have noticed, he's kind of a…"

"Playa?" Jessica fills in with a smile.

"Yeah," Carlisle nods.

We walk back to the elevator and return to the therapy room on floor two. "Do you feel so crazy now?" asks Bethany.

And somehow in the past twenty minutes I've bonded so much with these three people.


	3. Three

**A/N: YAY people reviewed! You guys rock.**

**Midie: Thanks a ton for the review. Just another bit of proof that I should have taken Bio, mm?**

**Unknown: Thanks, I'm working on it:-D**

**Unconventional: Yeah, thanks, I'm writing it because well, one, I have a ton of artistic license and I can write pretty much whatever I want, and two, no one else ever has. Plus Mindy's my favorite character.**

**Heyyo: Thanks :-D**

**PS—Exams are this week and then summer starts, so updates may be far between (but not few!).**

--

We go back into the therapy room and everyone looks up at me and smiles, including Katie. I sit down and someone starts talking. "My first day here, I smashed a hole in my wall."

"I put a _bat_ through my window."

"Pshaw," adds someone else, "I tore the blinds off _my_ window."

"We're all crazy," Carlisle reminds me as he sits down next to me. "You're not out of place here."

A small boy raises his hand and Katie nods at him with a smile. "My big brother died two weeks ago. I cried a lot." He runs up to me and jumps up onto my lap with a grin. "You can be my big sister now."

Intensely moved, I hug the little boy's head to my chest and feel tears coming out again. "I'm Mindy," I say, looking down at him with a smile.

"I'm Jonathan," he says, and I kiss the top of his head.

Wiping my eyes, I tell a bit of the story. "I'm Mindy Crenshaw, and my sister Sarah and little brother Jeremy died in a car accident two months ago… or at least, that's what I've been told. I don't actually remember anything about my life before coming here, except that I've cloned my dog. I have two cockapi."

Yeah, I realize, I don't remember anything from before. I remember Mom, and Dad, and Sarah and Jeremy and my two dogs Chad and Brad, but nothing else. I don't even remember school. God, my life is _so_ weird.

"That's not a common reaction, but it's not incredibly rare, that you don't remember things. They'll return in time," Katie reassures me. "Right now, however, our first group session is over. Feel free to return to your rooms, visit, whatever."

Jonathan jumps off of my lap and hugs me. I smile and walk over to Katie as everyone else is leaving. "Thanks so much for, well, everything," I say earnestly.

"No problem," she says, and I head for the door.

"Mindy, wait," I feel a hand on my shoulder, and Carlisle is turning me around. "I have art therapy, and I was wondering, do you want to come? Jessica might come, Bethany's got a knitting class, but you could come too." His cheeks are turning the slightest shade of red. Is this the equivalent of a date in the wacky shack?

"Here," I offer, "come with me. I'll go up to my room and check my schedule."

He smiles and we walk down to the elevator in silence, and once we've stopped, I open my door in silence.

"Today's what, Thursday?" I ask Carlisle as I shuffle through the papers on the coffee table, looking for the light-pink school schedule and the green therapy schedule I was given. "No school until Monday, and my next therapy is private therapy on Friday morning at ten."

"Let's hit it, then," Carlisle smiles. We go into the elevator again and punch the button for the eighth floor. "I'm sorry to hear about your sister and brother," he says quietly.

"Thanks." I think for a second. "Hey, you weren't originally in my therapy before I exploded. Why're you here? Where're you from?"

Carlisle smiles a little. "I'm obsessive-compulsive. I could have stayed at home and just gone to a doctor for therapy, but my parents decided that I'd do better here because the school program is great, and I got a scholarship or something. I'm definitely doing better. And I'm from Honolulu."

"That's great to hear," I grin as the doors open. "Plus Hawaii sounds pretty neat!"

"It is. And I've been going to art therapy a lot too," he adds as we turn left down the hall, which is hotellish just like my floor. "It helps me relax."

I chuckle. "God knows I need to relax. I'm a very uptight person." As he opens the door for me, I giggle. "Chivalry's not completely dead!"

Inside, there are easels and pottery wheels and tables and chairs where people are working with clay and paint and wire and wood. I've never been a very good artist but wow, it's amazing. "It's amazing, isn't it?" he asks, a note of admiration in his voice.

"My thoughts exactly."

The blonde man at the front of the room comes up and offers me his hand. "I'm George," he says. "Feel free to use whatever you want. We're open twenty-four seven, so come whenever you like."

"George, my man," Carlisle smiles and does one of those stupid knuckle-punch-high-five things with George. "What's cracking?"

Guys are so weird around other guys.

After they're done being idiotic, I follow Carlisle and sit down at an easel next to him. "So, what do you usually paint?" I ask him.

"Mm, it depends on how I'm feeling. Animals, sometimes, or some abstractish stuff. What about you?"

I gulp. "I'm a horrid artist. I don't paint that often. But we'll see what the brush makes."

Shaking his head, Carlisle makes a negative sound. "The brush doesn't make _anything_. _You_ make it." He pulls a smock from a shelf behind us, hands it to me, and puts one on himself. I do the same.

Within minutes I've painted a pair of eyes. They're gray-green, but I don't recognize them. Carlisle leans over and looks at my painting. "Ooh, eyes!" he exclaims. "The windows into the soul. Must be someone important."

I look at his painting. "Oh my God, irises! I love irises." Indeed, he's painted a swirly green-blue vase with three purple irises sticking out of the top.

He grins and continues to paint, and I do the same.

The swishes of the paint eventually become a nose and two lips. I'm failing still to identify the face, but I keep painting around the organs. Two cheeks, an ear (this is a ¾ profile, apparently) with a gold earring, and a neck. I rinse my brush and apply black paint in thick strokes to the top of the head, forming a mane of curly hair not unlike Carlisle's. But I still don't know who it is.

"Wow, he sure is good-looking," Carlisle laughs as he looks at my painting. "I thought you said you couldn't paint."

"I can't!" I wonder aloud. "Where is this coming from?"

"Who is it?"

I sigh and ponder the painting, adding a dark blue oxford shirt collar to the base of the neck. "I don't know."

Once I finish the shirt I start adding a pale sea-green background. I look at the clock. Two hours ago, I was standing in Bard's room, blushing. And now I have a painting of a foreign face sitting in front of me.

Carlisle's finished his irises—he's just putting on finishing touches of shiny white acrylic paint. I'm watching him and he catches my gaze, then turns away, pinking around the face. He sits back a bit on his stool and gestures to his painting. "I give you, irises."

"Beautiful," I grin, clapping.

"No, seriously, I give them to you." He takes a black paint pen, signs his name on the bottom right corner (Carlisle Watson, I see), and picks up the canvas. "Tomorrow we can come pick it up, and we can hang it in your room."

I'm blushing furiously and I smile. "I'd give you my painting, but I'm not sure you'd want a portrait of a random guy on your wall."

"I'm sure you'll know who he is sooner or later," he assures me, getting up and walking to a drying rack. The place is completely empty now except for George, who is inking in a picture of a horse. I put my portrait on the rack as well, and we leave for the elevator.

"I had a way better time tonight than anyone should ever have at a mental institution," I smile, and Carlisle grins.

Pushing the button for the fifth floor, he responds, "As did I."

The elevator slides to a stop and we get out, walking towards my room. The nurse on the way there smiles politely at us, and we finally get to my door. "I'll see you tomorrow?" I ask.

"Yeah, we've got pretty much a free day."

"Great," I grin widely. I've been doing a lot of that already. "Well, g'night."

Carlisle nods. "Good night, Mindy." And he kisses me on the cheek.

I start reddening as he turns around and turns down the hall to go to his room. I open the door, sit on the bed, and pick up _Teen Persons_. But I can't concentrate. I'm thinking about Carlisle… and then I'm thinking about that boy I painted today. Who is he?


	4. Four

**A/N: Well, exams are over, so is school… YAY! Here's the fourth chapter of _Chrysalis_. I've been thinking about this story constantly, and I decided I had to get it out. I also found a consistency error in the first chapter, so that has been repaired. Sorry about how long this chap is.**

**Midie: Yeah. I knew you would know. And yeah, the not-remembering is interesting. I'm thinking this story is when she'll figure out that she likes him. The guy in the painting, I mean. I bet it won't go over well with Carlisle, though.**

--

"There's nothing you can do or say, you're gonna break my heart anyway, so just…"

I reach over to the nightstand and hit my clock radio, and the music clicks off. It's eight-thirty, and I have therapy at ten. With a sigh, I swing my legs off of my bed and wipe the sleep from my eyes. After a few moments of sitting on the edge of the mattress and getting de-discombobulated, I get up, stretch, and rummage through my dresser (I put all my clothes in there last night; I couldn't sleep) for some clothes to wear. I pull out a green peasant blouse and black flare jeans and head for the shower.

God bless whoever invented the modern water heater. It's amazing what a hot shower can do for your attitude in the morning. I shampoo my hair twice and put conditioner in, leaving it in while I wash my face and brush my teeth. Yes, I brush my teeth in the shower. It's just so convenient. Because I'm a pretty fast showerer, my shower only lasts about fifteen minutes, at which point I get out and get dressed. As I comb heat-protecting serum through my hair, I realize that I've forgotten to get my hair-dryer-brush thing, and that it's sitting on the coffee table right now.

As I push the door open, I scream a tiny scream. Jessica is sitting on my bed, leafing through my _Teen Trend_. "Morning," she looks up and smiles.

"Yeesh," I seize my brush from the table. "Can't a girl get some privacy?"

"Not here," she reminds me. "No locks on anything."

"Why are you here anyway?" I ask her.

Closing the magazine, she watches me as I head back into the bathroom, leaving the door open. "I came to ask you if you wanted to go get some breakfast," she yells over my dryer as I turn the thing on, the brush heating up red, and run it down the length of my hair. "I thought you'd be awake. Most of us are by at least seven-thirty."

I roll my eyes and continue to brush my hair dry. "I'm a late sleeper on days when I don't have school," I shout. "Go on without me. It'll take me at least thirty minutes to finish getting ready. And then I have therapy at ten."

"Are you sure?"

"Yeah," I bellow, and she gets up and leaves with a wave.

After about five minutes, I get sick of how long it's taking to dry my hair and pull the hotel-style hair dryer from its holder thing and proceed to roll my hair onto the brush and dry it with the dryer. This speeds it up noticeably, and about eight minutes later my hair is silky-smooth and dry. Shaking my head and watching my hair float around like those girls on the Spice Spirit commercials do, I grin and zip open my makeup bag. After applying foundation, I put on powder. Considering the color of my blouse and my strange affinity for radical eye colors, I pull out a dark olive eyeshadow compact and smooth some of that on my eyelids. Two coats of brown mascara later, I put brown lipgloss on and pull out my boar's hair brush.

I've always loved doing fun stuff with my hair, as long as I didn't cut it more than necessary. I'm proud to say that I have few split ends and I condition it well every day. I even do a hot-oil treatment once a week, and that will not end even though I'm in a mental hospital. Today, I brush it into a ponytail at the nape of my neck. At this time, I am far too lazy to try something exciting, plus my outfit is sort of sophisticated and I'd like to match my hair with that.

My getting-ready routine has taken about thirty minutes, and I am proud of myself for estimating correctly. Going back into my room, I sit on the bed and pull on my comfy pink Driftie flip-flops. I'm totally set for breakfast.

If only I knew where it was.

So I get up and look at the light-blue schedule on my coffee table. Breakfast is served in the cafeteria, but I knew that. Okay, that's room 313. Easy enough.

I get up, tucking my _Teen Persons_ under my arm, go to the elevator, and punch the third-floor button. Within moments, I'm getting out. Another hospital-looking floor, I can see. However, what I can't see is room 313. Come on, it's a cafeteria, it can't be this hard to find. But it is, so I turn to one of the nurses.

"Excuse me, ma'am, could you please point me in the direction of the cafeteria?"

Without even looking up, she points left down the hall behind me. I nod and turn down the hall.

The cafeteria's mediocre, extremely reminiscent of my high-school cafet… wait! I just remembered, yeah! My high school! Great. I don't remember what it's called or who goes there, but I remember the _cafeteria_? Yeesh.

I look around for Jessica, or Bethany, or Carlisle, or anyone who looks familiar. Not a soul. I wonder where they all went. Checking my watch, I learn that it's nine-thirty. So I go up to the buffet, get a bowl of granola and some yogurt, and sit down by the big window. It's raining.

It takes me about fifteen minutes to finish my granola, and about five for the yogurt. I'm reading _Teen Persons_ the whole time. "How to get a guy to like you," I read aloud. "Interesting."

I continue reading after finishing my food for about seven minutes, and then I get up and get ready to go to therapy… and then I realize that I don't know where it is.

Back in the elevator for me. In my room there's the light orange therapy schedule on the table, and I dash forward and check it. Room 914. Excellent—and still five minutes left to go until ten.

I make it with three minutes left, and settle myself into one of the cushy chairs. Apparently, room 914 isn't a room at all, but a cluster of offices with a waiting room, which I'm sitting in right now. A doctor comes out; she's tall with red wavy hair, and she looks at me with a smile. "Mindy?" I nod. "I'm Dr. Pasternak. Follow me."

I do as told, following the doctor into a small dark-red painted office, where she sits down in a chair across the room from the other chair. "I hear that you're in denial," she says.

"Yeah," I sigh. "They can't be dead, you know?"

"I know, but they are," she says quietly.

"I don't want them to be."

That's the last thing either of us say for a good number of minutes. We just sit there, she looks at me and I look at the floor. The session's supposed to be thirty minutes long, and we've already passed the first twenty in long silence.

"I loved them."

"I know."

I sigh and she smiles sadly, and somehow I'm emotionally drained already. I get up and leave the room silently.

I see a familiar face through the small window in the door of the waiting room, and the door opens for me. "Hey Mindy," Carlisle says softly.

I smile slightly. "Hey."

"How'd it go?" he asks and we start walking towards the elevator.

I don't know where we're going, and I really don't care. "We sat there and stared at nothing for the first twenty minutes. It was quiet."

He nods understandingly. "Yeah, my first session was like that too. But trust me, these doctors are great. You'll be making breakthroughs in no time."

"I remembered something," I say.

"What?" he asks, but I can hear something odd in his voice.

"I remembered my high school cafeteria," I say.

"That's great," he says, and I can almost hear some relief in his voice. Though why, I don't know.

We get in the elevator and he pushes the eighth floor button. "Where're we going?" I ask him.

"You'll see," he smiles.

The doors open and he takes my hand, and I shiver, in a good way. He doesn't even do it romantically, just drags me down the hall, but I'm shivering anyway.

We stop in front of a large pair of open doors. Inside…

"Welcome to Paradise," he grins, and Jessica is inside and looks up, waving at me.

"What… is this?"

He pulls me inside and lets go of my hand, to my slight frustration. "This is our youth room," he says. "We've got everything."

Indeed, they do. Two pool tables, a ping-pong table, a foosball table, a ring of couches, a TV and DVD player, and a stereo hug the walls. "Wow," I breathe.

"Ping-pong!" he says gleefully and, seizing my wrist, pulls me to the table.

Within minutes we have started a heated game of ping-pong. People are gathering around to watch me slamming and him saving. After about twenty minutes, he's beat me, 20-18. "Drat," I snap my fingers.

"We'll have plenty of time to do it again," he reminds me.

After that, we sit down on the couch, me cross-legged against the left arm, facing him against the right. The room is slowly emptying—I guess people who aren't me or Carlisle have places to go. I pick up the remote to turn the TV on, but he stops me. "Tell me about yourself," he says.

"I can't," I whine. "I don't know anything."

"Let's see if we can jog your memory maybe? Tell me about your family."

I sigh. "Well, let's see. I have a mother and a father, and I had a sister and a brother. I cloned my cockapoo, Chad, for… for what? I don't know! I can't remember…" I dissolve into tears. You have _no_ idea how frustrating it is not to know anything about yourself.

He scoots towards me and as I lean back to slump onto the back of the couch, he gently puts his arm around my shoulders and presses my head to his own. "It's okay," he says softly. Obviously he's unfazed by crying girls. He leans his head onto mine, at which point I realize that the whole hand-grabbing thing was nothing. Taking my right hand in his own, he rubs my palm gently. My crying is slowing.

"Okay," I sniff loudly and sit up straight, because I know I'll have to keep going someday. "So I have two cockapi, Chad and Brad. I cloned Chad for something. I don't know what, though."

"A science fair?" he asks.

I feel my brain whirring. "Yeah, yeah, that sounds right."

"Did you win?"

I sigh again. "I don't remember."

"I think that's plenty for today," he smiles. We're sitting cross-legged from each other again, and his smile is killing me. Yeesh, he's gorgeous.

We sit quietly for about ten minutes, just Zenning a bit. Checking my watch, I find out that it's about eleven-fifteen.

He sees my gesture and hits his head with a palm. "Oh crap, I forgot to tell you," he starts. "My doctor called early this morning and told me that I had to come to therapy today because he's going to a conference on Monday. Darn."

"I'll be okay," I grin and nod. "I'll go read in my room."

"I'll be done at about twelve-thirty, so, I'll find you, okay?" he gets up and waves, dashing out the door, and I wonder why his therapy is so long.

Getting up, I walk slowly out of the room and go to the elevator. Pushing the "down" button, I wait for about five minutes before one arrives, probably because Carlisle took it already. I go back down to room 313 and get a chicken sandwich for lunch. Because I don't really want to eat in there again, I head back up to my room.

It's still raining, I see. It's started coming down harder. Sitting down at the chair next to the coffee table, I sigh and open my _Teen Persons_. It doesn't take long to eat, or to finish the magazine, so after twenty minutes of that, I get up and grab one of my mysteries from the tote bag. Curling up in the papason, I start to read.

Unaware of the passing of time due to a young woman detective falling in love with a police officer before my eyes, I finish the book and realize that it's twelve forty-five. I don't see Carlisle outside of my room, so I stretch a bit and walk down the hallway. Taking the elevator back up to the eighth floor, I go up to the art room.

George smiles and waves, and the room is completely empty as I grab the paints and brushes and an apron. Setting up on an easel, I start painting something.

It starts as a giant red blob. A really ugly red blob, I notice, until I add some iridescent white pearly paint to the middle of it. Soon I've added a long brown stick sticking out of the top, and what it is is slowly coming to mind, but I shove that out of the way and let the Muses keep dancing.

I add shape to the red blob, making it almost an eight shape. Shading brings it almost to life, and I add a silver box near the bottom of it, and silver dots next to the top of the stick. Six lines down the middle in black finish it.

It's a guitar.

Why did I paint a guitar?

Ugh, this is driving me insane. I've painted a random guy, a random guitar… what's next? I'm not sure I even want to know! I'm driving myself insane.

I take my painting to the drying rack and pull the painting of the boy off. After I've cleaned up my spot, I take the painting in my hands and look back. There's Carlisle's painting of the irises. I take that too.

The two paintings and I go back to my room, where I put them side-by-side on my coffee table, waiting for someone to put them up. I check my clock radio—it's one-thirty. Where is Carlisle?

I take the elevator down to my floor and go back to my room. Where is he? I stare at the portrait of the guy on my coffee table. "Who are you?" I shriek.

I've been sitting for twenty minutes when I get sick of waiting. Getting up, I open the door and exit my room. Checking the directory at the nurses' station down the hall from my room, I search for Katie's office. For some reason, I think she'll know where Carlisle is.

I find it and take the elevator to the first floor. Office 109B. I knock.

"Come in," she says.

I open the door and sit down in the leather chair in front of her desk.

"Hey, Mindy," she smiles and turns from her computer to me. "What's up?"

I sigh and make a face. "Do you know where Carlisle is? I can't find him anywhere!"

She looks at the clock, and so do I. It's two-fifteen. "Um," she hesitates, "why don't you go check Paradise? If he's not there, I don't know where he is."

"This sounds suspicious," I say, raising an eyebrow, but I get up and leave with a wave to Katie.

I head back up the elevator to Paradise. He's not in there either. It's completely empty. I stomp to the couch and jump onto it, landing with a "floof" on the cushion. Fiddling with the remote, I flip it on and channel surf before landing on a channel called Stick. I'm not even paying attention to the shows (which look ridiculous anyway, plus there's a huge blue blob obstructing the screen).

Someone's shaking me… ugh, stop shaking me!

I blink and realize that I fell asleep. On the TV, a guy is shaking his butt and paper's coming out. Too weird. I click it off and look at the person who shook me awake.

"Carlisle!" I scream gleefully and jump up to hug him. "I've been looking for you for hours! Then I fell asleep…" I check my watch, "two and a half hours ago."

"Go get dressed," he commands.

"Dressed for… what?"

He smiles. "Just wear something elegant." With that, he takes my hand.

Only it's not like before.

This time, it's romantic. He slips his hand into mine and squeezes, looking at me with a smile.

I shiver again.

We depart for the elevator and go back up to our floor. "Meet me out here in forty-five minutes," he says and goes to his room.

I'm extremely confused, but I go into my room and pull out a beautiful red Marilyn-Monroe type dress that I'd brought. Heading into the bathroom, I wash my face, change and brush out my hair. "This is why I brought a curling iron," I say to myself, and go back to get it out of my suitcase.

Twenty minutes later, my hair is styled in graceful waves. Grinning, I pull out my makeup and do the routine. Foundation, powder, gold eye pencil and eyeshadow, dark red lipstick, and a dab of blush. I take out my favorite perfume and put some on each wrist, then on my neck. From my suitcase I pull a pair of red strappy sandals, which I slip onto my feet. Perfect, and still ten minutes left. So I sit on my bed delicately and open _Eighteen_.

I'm way too excited to sit still, so I leave my room and go to the elevator to wait for Carlisle. He arrives within five minutes… and he's wearing a _suit_.

"Okay, what's going on?" I ask, crossing my arms and giving him a Look.

"We're going to dinner," he says with a smile. "I got Katie's permission to take you off-site to dinner. She will be providing transportation."

I'm amazed, and I jump with a squeal to hug him. He smells awesome. As do I, of course.

He takes my hand again and we go downstairs to the lobby to wait for Katie. She arrives shortly, and we get into her red 5-Jogger and drive a short way down to Emerald Orchard, the greatest Italian restaurant ever. She gets out and so do we. "I'm meeting my own boyfriend here," she smiles, and I notice she's as dressed up as I am. "So I'll find you, or vice versa, when we're ready to leave."

We enter the restaurant, and Carlisle steps up to the table person. "Reservations for two, under Watson," he says, and the person leads us to a booth by the windows.

"I can't believe we've only known each other for what, thirty-six hours?" I muse.

"I think things happen faster when you're in a mental hospital," he laughs.

We order drinks (Diet Mountain Fizz for me, Mocha Cola for him) and food (alfredo for me, ravioli for him) and settle in for dinner. Talking little, we mostly eat and look out the window.

"I must say," I start after swallowing some pasta, "you know me as well as anyone I've ever met. Because, you realize, you know everything about me that I know."

"I'd say that's something," he smiles and takes another bite of ravioli.

We finish and talk about everything I can think of—literally. Anything that I know, I tell him. He tells me about Honolulu, his family, and anything else he can think of. Small talk gets bigger.

He taps my arm and gestures to the other corner of the restaurant. Katie and her boyfriend are giggling over their meals and looking all lovey-dovey. "Aah, I love that girl," he says, and then blushes. "Not… not like that. Like, she's awesome. I had a similar tantrum to yours the first day, and she helped me."

I nodded and smiled. "What did you do?"

"I stole her shoes and threw them off my balcony. Her expensive shoes."

"One thing you should learn," I joke, "is _never_ touch a girl's shoes."

"Got it," he smiles.

After the dinner's been going on for about an hour and a half, Katie and her boyfriend get up and the waiter informs us that they've picked up our check. Katie looks over and winks, and I grin.

"Well, let's hit the road," Carlisle says and we leave the restaurant behind Katie and the guy.

Then they kiss there in the front of the restaurant. Carlisle and I just stand there looking uncomfortable for a couple of seconds, then clear our throats and get back in the car.

We drive away and Katie talks about her boyfriend. "His name's Gus," she says. "He's charming, smart, and all-around awesome."

Carlisle and I just sit there listening to her.

We pull into the parking garage and Carlisle opens my car door for me. I get out with a smile and then hug Katie. "Thank you so, so much," I say. "You rock."

"I know," she says with a smile, and Carlisle and I go up into the building.

The rest of it is dull. We get in the elevator, floor five, he walks me to my room…

So much for dull.

Standing in my doorway, I sigh. "I'll see you tomorrow morning," I say, turning to get the door.

"Mindy, wait," he says, taking my wrist, and turns me around. We stand there for about ten seconds, facing each other holding hands.

Then he kisses me.

His hands form a circle around my waist and my arms around his neck, and we kiss for quite a while.

Until I hear an elevator ding.

We pull apart and I pinch myself. "I'm awake," I whisper, and he waves and disappears down the hall.


End file.
